To Hold Humanity
by TaelynHawker
Summary: Spoilers: Up to Season 3 Episode 9; Malleus Maleficarum. Summary: The moment the words leave her mouth he can feel a creeping numbness all over his body. Warning: Wincest, don't like it, please don't read it.


-1**Title: **To Hold Humanity

**Author: **Taelyn Hawker

**Rating: **NC-17

**Pairing: **Sam/Dean

**Warnings: **Incest, angst, graphic sex.

**Spoilers: Up to Season 3 Episode 9; Malleus Maleficarum**.

**Summary: **The moment the words leave her mouth he can feel a creeping numbness all over his body.

One more warning before you read: TOTAL SPOILERS FOR SEASON THREE EPISODE NINE! Don't read if you don't want to be spoiled. 

………………………………...

The world tilts on it's axis, he can feel the ground shifting beneath his feet.

The moment the words leave her mouth he can feel a creeping numbness all over his body. It starts somewhere in the pit of his stomach, and spreads out. His breath comes faster, his heart beats harder. _Human once_, the thought is too all encompassing for him to process, to even begin to process. And he doesn't need her to answer his unasked question, he already knows. He might have known the moment he found out that she had been a woman once, mortal and greedy and flawed and _human_.

What might be worse though, is what she says about Sam, what he knows to be true, what Sam himself had said earlier. That in order to survive without Dean, Sam has to _become_ Dean. Because Sam, his sweet, smart, geeky, fumbling Sam, should never have to harden himself like Dean. Dean's life has centered, always and from the moment his baby brother took his first breath, long before their mother ever died or their father ever said the words 'take your brother', around keeping Sam safe. And that meant keeping Sam _Sam_.

For a long time he stands in the parking lot. Alone now, still feeling numb, although sensation is starting to come back in prickling waves. Sweat beads on his forehead and there's a churning in his stomach. He feels a bit like he's sinking into the asphalt, like Hell is trying to take him early. Into Hell and then he'll become- become, _oh god_. His stomach gives a great heave and then he's bent over, gagging violently as everything he's eaten in the last week or so comes back up. It doesn't stop when his stomach is empty, he gasps for air in between painful dry heaves.

Dean doesn't even realize Sam's come out until he feels a hand on his shoulder, long fingers digging into his tense muscles in a way that's welcome. He wipes furiously at his mouth, takes a deep shuddering breath and manages to stop gagging. He can't let Sam know, can't let him see this. Oh god. His stomach gives another threatening heave, but nothing happens.

"Dean? Dean, are you okay? Talk to me! Dean!" Sam's voice is nearly hysterical, and Dean suddenly realizes that Sam's been talking to him for some time.

"Shh, Sammy. Shut up. I'm fine." He manages out, his voice is rough and hollow in his own ears, he can't imagine what it sounds like to Sam.

"What the hell happened? What's wrong with you? Dean?" Sam helps him up, keeps his hands on his shoulder as if he needs steadying. And maybe he does, because his knees ache from being on the ground and he feels shaky all over.

A demon. Oh god, he's going to become- _that_, become one of those. And there are few fears that Dean's ever had, but becoming something he's hunted has always been one of them; below Sam or Dad dying, but a ways above knocking up one of his one night stands. He's going to forget; forget Sam and Dad and Mom and food and hunting. Forget being human, forget being Dean, being Sam's brother.

He doesn't realize he's bent over and heaving again until Sam's hands start running over his back in soothing patterns.

"Dean, what is it, man? I need you to talk to me. Please, please Dean. You're freaking me out here." Sam's voice is soft in his ear and pleading. It's so Sam that he actually manages to take a deep breath and stand up straight all on his own.

"Stomach bug, maybe. It's nothing Sam." He tries for nonchalant, cavalier, and knows he's not succeeding.

"Bullshit, Dean. Fucking bullshit. Don't do this- don't!" He snarls the last word when Dean opens his mouth to argue.

"Can we at least get inside before you go all hormonal on me, darling?" He snipes back. "Don't want the neighbors talking." He pulls away from Sam and he'd be damned proud of how steady he is on legs that feel like water if it weren't the serious concentration he needs to stay that way.

He splashes his face with water, gargles to get the taste of vomit out of his mouth. Then he sags on the bed, his whole body shaking. The last time he felt like this- no, that was worse- but the last time he felt anything close to this bad was when Sam died in the first place. When he'd had to carry his brother's body to the Impala; all the way up that fucking road, and Bobby watching him with wide eyes, knowing better than to try to help but obviously wanting to.

Sam comes in a few minutes after, waiting long enough for Dean to have stood back up, for worry to start tightening his chest. He stares at Dean from the doorway, looking tired and drawn and too-pale. Sam's always been golden brown and strong, even when he was gangly and awkward. His face is carefully blank, too careful and it's obvious he's hiding something, but Sam usually wears his emotions like a mask, covering his features and twisting them. Dean's never realized how much he likes Sam's bitch face. His hair is wet and pushed back, curling at the ends like it does when Sam hasn't at least raked his fingers through it to smooth it.

"Sammy." Dean whispers, his throat is sore and he still hasn't quite stopped shaking.

Sam's face breaks then, the false calm gone, and he comes into the room to sit heavily on the bed nearest the door. His legs bent awkwardly, head hanging down, long arms falling over his knees. His brother, his beautiful, broken, lost little brother. Suddenly the thought of leaving Sam alone is as offensive to him as the thought of Sam dead. Two things that should never, ever, happen in a world where everything bad can or does happen; Dean should never have to live a life where he failed to save his baby brother, and his baby brother should never have to face the world without Dean having his back.

He walks to Sam and falls heavy on his knees in front of him. His hands find Sam's arms, run fingers up his arm and over the veins that stand out over corded and tense muscles. Sam's skin is warm, it flushes beneath Dean's touch and Dean wonders in a cloudy sort of way why he never noticed that before.

"Sammy, I'm so fucking sorry." He manages to get out, though he can't bring himself to meet Sam's eyes.

"Dean." Sam's voice breaks in the middle of his name and Dean can hear the tears in it. 

He looks up then, has too, even though he knows there's more in his eyes than even he knows how to understand. But Sam meets his look and understanding slides over the anguish in his face, like even if Dean doesn't know everything he's feeling or thinking, Sam does.

"I was trying to save you. I couldn't do it. Couldn't fucking do it. Only thing that's ever mattered was you. How could I let you go?" Dean asks, knowing there's no answer. 

Sam nods, anguish on his face again, he lowers his head, lets his wet hair fall over it like a curtain. Intermission, end of the show, no encore.

"I don't want you to be me. Christ, you should never have to be me." Dean grinds out, past clenched teeth, trying to keep his face hard so the tears that burn his eyes won't fall. _A demon_, he thinks, _oh god, Sammy, I'm going to turn into one of them._ His hands tighten on Sam's arms, fingers digging in, and Sam hisses in pain, but Dean can't lighten the hold. "I fucked it up again. I screwed it up."

"Dean, no." The pleading in Sam's voice is painful. "No. You were- you were doing what you do, what you've always done. Protecting me." Sam's hands raise to cradle Dean's head, and Dean keeps his hold on his forearms. They've never touched like this. It sends shivers up Dean's spine, makes his stomach clench in a not uncomfortable way. "There has to be a way for me to protect you this time. There has to be, and I'm going to find it."

Dean shakes his head slowly, not much room to move with Sam's hands threading in the short strands of his hair.

"Don't think you can, Sammy." He says softly, and he's never meant it more. There's no way, he knows that now, no magic fix for what he's done.

Sam's hands tighten in his hair and pull his face up until he's so close they're breathing the same air. Sam's eyes are wild, nostrils flared, cheeks flushed, but he doesn't argue with Dean and that more than anything tells Dean that he's right. Because if even Sam knows, deep down in his gut _knows_, that there's no saving Dean then there is _no saving Dean_.

He'd still do it again. The lesser of two evils. Sam alive but on his own still makes more sense than Dean alive without Sam to protect.

He doesn't know who closes the distance, isn't sure whose sob is swallowed by whose mouth, but Sam's lips are soft and pliant against his. Like he thought they would be, if he could admit to ever having thought about it before. His hands in Dean's hair tighten almost painfully, and Dean digs his fingers harder into his arms in response. Sam gasps and Dean's tongue plunges in to taste and take from his brother. He moans, he knows it's him, not Sam, because Sam's making breathless, whimpering noises into his mouth. He's slowly getting off his knees, pushing Sam backwards, gentle and careful, because in his mind Sam will always be breakable even when he's stronger than Dean can ever hope to be.

Sam lets himself be pushed, moves his hands out of Dean's hair long enough to move backwards on the bed, and then those long fingers are gripping Dean's face.

He crawls up between Sam's spread legs, hands moving up his arms to grasp his jaw, fingers curling into the damp hair at the back of his neck. Sam shivers and his hands move to Dean's hips, large and strong, gripping like a vice and pulling him in closer so that he has to angle his face up to keep kissing Dean and Dean's cock presses into his stomach.

Dean pulls away gasping, staring down into Sam's eyes, dark green littered with speck of golden brown and bright even in the damp light of the motel lamps.

"Beautiful." He murmurs before he can stop himself, and Sam's eyes widen, his cheek flushing again. Dean finds the hem of his shirt and pulls it up over his head before he can say anything, make Dean feel any stupider for his affectionate outburst.

Sam's tugging at Dean's shirt and Dean helps him by pulling it up and off. They stare at each other for a long moment, chests heaving, eyes questioning, hands hovering just over skin. Dean can smell Sam from here, the scent of his shampoo and the aftershave he uses every day and the underlying scent of Sam that's always been in Dean's awareness of his brother. Then he has the sudden thought of forgetting this, forgetting something as ingrained in his subconscious as the sound of his father's breathing in the next room, or the muffled noises Sam's always makes as he falls asleep, the gold of his mother's hair in the morning. He closes his eyes tight, breathing hard, his chest constricting.

"Dean?" Sam's voice, questioning and unsure, his body tensing underneath Dean.

Dean opens his eyes, and moves in the kiss Sam hard and hungry, tasting all of him, wanting more. Sam's helpless moans, the way he melts into Dean as Dean lowers himself closer, bare skin to bare skin, make Dean ache for more. He wants to devour him, to take all of Sam into himself so no one can ever separate one from the other.

His hands are steady, finally, as he undoes his belt and his pants, kicks them off and nearly topples himself over and off the bed in the process. Sam follows his lead, gets his pants unbuckled and unzipped and halfway down his hips before Dean climbs to one side of his legs and yanks them off, boxers and all. He's back between Sam's legs before the sheets get cold and the press of his bare skin to Sam's leaves him breathing fast and his cock aching he's so fucking hard. He leans down, mouthing along Sam's jaw, finding a sensitive spot just behind his ear and biting gently there. Sam's gasp is satisfyingly loud and he bucks up against Dean.

It all moves fast after that, it's hard for Dean to keep up, to know who slides down the bed until they're lying against one another, every angle pressed into a matching or opposing angle; like they're a jagged puzzle that was always meant to be pieced together. Dean can't stop kissing Sam, can't get enough of the taste of him or the feel of his breath washing over his face. It's Sam who brings Dean's fingers to his mouth, sucking them in one at a time until their wet and slippery, but it's Dean who trails them down his brother's body, over the hard plains of his chest and stomach to reach between them and open him up.

He takes his time, working Sam slowly because he doesn't know if Sam's done this before and he doesn't want to know; content to think he's the first one here, doing this, making Sam writhe and moan and curse the way he is. He doesn't need Sam to tell him when he's ready, when the fingers are enough and he needs something more solid.

Dean presses into Sam slowly, Sam's long legs around his hips, watching Sam's face contort with pleasure and pain until he's fully sheathed in the tight, hot heat of him. They don't move for a moment, watching each other again, until Sam's face crumples like he's going to cry and Dean leans down to kiss him, soft and soothing, a balm to the wounds Dean's left without ever realizing. He moves carefully, slowly at first, and then harder, faster as Sam's breath hitches and gasps into Dean's mouth and Dean let's everything go to just _feel _this.

Sam's name is torn from his lips when he comes, hard and white hot inside of his brother, just as Sam comes between them. Sam says his name over and over as they ride it out together, like a prayer falling from his lips. It's a while before they move, when Dean's back starts to protest and he knows Sam's knees must be aching from their position around his waist. He pulls out slowly and carefully, feeling a little shocked now, but not having any regret. He rolls over off his brother only to have Sam's unnaturally long arms wrap around him and pull him back into welcome heat. It's cold in the room, outside the circle of his brother's arms. Sam is the one who gets them under the covers, his body heat making a warm cocoon of the bed.

They're lying side by side, wrapped up in each other, foreheads pressed one to the other. Each breath Sam exhales is the breath Dean inhales. 

It's not long before the fear, the anger, the reality of their situations falls back on them. Dean can feel Sam shaking, feel how his hands tighten on Dean as if he can keep him with him just by holding him as tight as he can. This changes nothing and everything, what's happened between them. And Dean knows they both know it. 

"Dean." Sam's voice is pitched low, he nudges Dean with his nose until Dean tilts his face down and Sam kisses him. Dean licks at his bruised lips, one hand moving from around Sam to tangle in his hair. Sam shifts closer to him.

"I know, Sammy." He says when he finally pulls away. Sam shudders against him and Dean holds him tighter.

There's nothing to say. Dean can't tell Sam what Ruby told him, can't even bring himself to think about repeating those words out loud. It's possible that Sam figured it out anyway, probably before Dean even thought of it. Or maybe not. Sam has a blind spot sometimes, when it comes to him. Dean knows it's probably not fair but he'll take advantage of it for as long as he can.

"I love you, Dean. God, I-." Dean shuts him up with a fierce, hard kiss that leaves them both breathless. Sam doesn't say anything after that, only moves so that he can rest his head on Dean's shoulder.

Dean turns his head so that his lips are pressed to Sam's forehead, breathing deeply of the scent of Sam as it fills his nose.

Dean closes his eyes tight, not ready to sleep, although his heartbeat, his breath, are both falling into rhythm with Sam, who's sound asleep not five minutes later. He wants to believe, makes himself belief, that maybe this will be enough.

Maybe it will be this moment, regardless of how fucked up it might be, that will let him remember. The feel of Sam in his arms, the taste of him in his mouth, the smell of him in his nose. Maybe if he can remember how much love he feels right now, a suffocating amount, enough to knock the air from his lungs, maybe he can end up a little bit like her. Maybe he'll remember what is was to be human, to feel love and loyalty. Maybe, when it happens, when he's been down there long enough and he becomes the very thing he hates and hunts, he'll still hold enough of himself to keep Sam safe.

It's a tale he lets himself believe. If he has to die, if he has to leave Sam, become a _demon_ -and he shudders at the thought- then maybe he can at least have that.

He has to at least have that. For Sam. For both of them. He has to, it's the only chance he has now.

………………………………...

**Author's Note: **I really did think that after finishing Orpheus Drowning I was going to be spent for a good long while. But then I downloaded and watched Thursday night's episode and here this was. That episode made me feel ill and just about broke my heart. If it had had just a little more classic rock I would say I'm happy for the return of the old school Supernatural. Anyway... I'm pretty happy with this story. Please let me know what you think! I'd really beg, but I need my dignity. -


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